At length this ancient stag of ten, Discovering all its efforts vain, And almost wholly worn and spent, Drives by main force, from covert near, Athwart the dogs, some younger deer, To tempt them off, by fresher scent. What reasoning here the beast displays! Its backward tracks on beaten ways, Its numerous schemes its scent to smother, And skill, at length, to thrust another
[Illustration: THE TWO RATS, THE FOX, AND THE EGG.]
On danger almost at its feet, For some great party chief were meet; And worthy of some better fate Than death from dogs insatiate.
'Tis thus the red-legged partridge, sprung By pointer, strives to save her young, As yet unfledged. With piteous cries, And lagging wing, she feigns to rise, Runs on, then halts, then hurries on again, And dog and hunter tempts across the plain; But when her nest is far enough behind, She laughs at both, and skims along the wind.
'Tis said that beings have been found, In distant lands, in northern climes, Who still in ignorance profound Are steeped, as in primeval times. But only of the men I speak, For there four-footed creatures break The force of streams by dams and ridges, And join opposing banks by bridges: Beams morticed well with beams, their toil Resists the stream's attempt to spoil; Each labourer with the other vies, And old ones guide young energies; Chief engineers the whole survey, And point out aught that goes astray. Pluto's well-ordered state could never Have vied with these amphibians clever.
In snows they build their houses high, And pass o'er pools on bridges dry: Such is their prudence, art, and skill; Whilst men like us around them, still, If they, perchance, should have the whim A distant shore to reach, must swim. Now, spite of all, this evidence Convinces me of beavers' sense. But still, my point to make more clear, I will a story here relate, Which but lately met my ear From lips of one who rules in state: A king, I mean, and one whose glory Soars high on wings of victory-- The Polish prince, whose name alone Spreads terror round the Turkish throne. That kings can lie not is well known: He says, then, that his frontiers wide Are edged by wilds where beasts reside, Who warfare wage inveterate, And to their sons transmit their hate. "These beasts are fox-like," says the king, And to their wars such arts they bring, That neither this nor any age Has seen men with like skill engage. All pickets, sentinels, and spies, With ambuscades and treacheries, That she who from Styx's entrails came, And unto heroes gives their fame, Invented has, for man's perdition, These beasts employ, with erudition. To sing their battles we should have Homer restored us, from the grave; And, oh! that he who Epicurus Rivals once more could re-assure us That, whatever beasts may do, Is to mechanic means but due; That all their minds corporeal are; That building houses, making war, They are but agents, weak and blind, Of some mere watchspring in the mind. The object which their sense attacks, Returning, fills its former tracks, And straightway, in their bestial pates, The image seen before creates, Without that thought, or sense, or soul Have o'er the thing the least control. But men a different station fill, And, scorning instinct, use their will. I speak, I walk, and feel within Something to God-like power akin. Distinct from all my flesh and bone, It lives a life that's all its own, Yet o'er my flesh it rules alone. But how can soul be understood By what is merely flesh and blood? There lies the point. The tool by hand is guided; Who guides the hand has not yet been decided. Ah! what is that strange power which wings The planets on their heavenly way? Doth each some angel lord obey? And are my spirit's secret springs Moved and controlled the selfsame way? My soul obeys some influence; I know not what it is, nor whence. That secret must for ever lie Hid by God's awful majesty. Descartes knew just as much as I: In other things he may supplant All men; he's here as ignorant. But, Iris, this, at least, I know,-- That no such lofty souls endow The beasts of whom I've made example:-- Of soul, man only is the temple. Yet must we to the beasts accord Some sense the plant-world can't afford; And even plants have humble lives. But let me add one story still; And let me know how much your skill Of moral from its facts derives.